Walking After You
by fc2001
Summary: Takes place after events in first 3 episodes of series 8, concerns Dave/Chen...please r/r


"Walking After You"   
  
As usual, I own nothing and no-one. The title, as many of you will know, is a Foo Fighters song taken from "The Colour & The Shape". Excellent, excellent song. Anyway...This fic was knocked up in about half-an-hour after I heard about Series 8's twin shocks. Erm, therefore it does contain spoilers for the first 4 episodes of Season 8 so if you haven't seen don't read on.   
  
He didn't know how far he'd walked since he left home that morning. Usually, he'd be heading to work but this morning was different. For the first time in a long time, he was out of work and he felt utterly lost.   
  
Chicago's grey streets held no comfort as he wandered aimlessly amongst the commuters. He was hopeless. Who'd employ him with his record? He wouldn't even employ him most of the time.   
  
He kicked randomly at the puddles on the sidewalk in front of him, splashing the filthy water up his trousers, soaking his feet and legs. He didn't care. If it meant he didn't have to look at his own reflection it couldn't be a bad thing.   
  
Why couldn't he have been a good father? Why couldn't he have kept his head and possibly his job? Why did he lose it with her? He'd never been her favourite, never would be, but they could have sorted this out. She had been too willing to sacrifice his job for the sake of her own career. He didn't matter to her. No-one mattered to Kerry Weaver but herself. The fact was glaringly, brutally clear in that moment and he hated her for it. Because of her, he couldn't support his child. Because of her, he was once again a useless father.   
*****   
People were still living their lives, getting on with their jobs, climbing the ladders of success. So had she been. Now she'd crashed all the way back down. She'd been so close. Was she bitter? Probably, the more she thought about it, she was. She'd been sacrificed. It was like her job, her life, her career mattered nothing to anyone.   
  
She had been walking but now she was standing still, by the river where everyone in Chicago went to think. It was pelting down with rain, fairly normal weather for this city, but she was so soaking wet she didn't notice anymore.   
  
The water swept past just in front of her, people filtered impatiently along the walkway behind her, seemingly annoyed at her inertia. She had nowhere to go, nothing to hurrry anywhere for. Days before, she would have been one of the impatient ones. She couldn't be the only one with nowhere to go. It was a terrible, aching feeling. For years, medicine had been all she'd known and now even that had been taken from her.   
*****   
Who was next? He couldn't help but wonder. Who else would that tempremental red-head be willing to stand on in her quest for personal fulfillment? Work was all that woman had - and in that respect he was sorry for her. He pitied her - her lack of a family, someone to love, someone who was truly there for her. He wasn't even sure she had that many friends. She wasn't liked in the ER. But she had the power over all of them. Many resented her because of that - himself included. She could make decisions, say things to affect each and every one of their careers and it all hinged on whether she liked you or not.   
*****   
Many would argue she didn't have to leave. She had resigned after all. She'd had no choice - it was that or stay and fight Kerry Weaver and no-one would win any battles with that domineering, lonely woman. She had had to leave. There was no other way out of the situation anymore. She couldn't cope with working for Weaver, not after she'd see her true colours. Much as she loved everyone in that ER, they all held a special place in her heart, she'd had to go. She couldn't make anyone understand that - most of the time, it didn't even make sense to her. It had been the right thing to do. She'd been used, discarded in the name of personal self-service. The same way, just days before, her colleague had. One mistake, one mistake and it triggered all this. And now both of them were out of a job.   
*****   
There was no point to his aimlessly wandering the streets. It wasn't doing anyone any good. He was just getting in the way, surplus to requirements. Slowly, he walked home again. How long it'd be home for now, he didn't know. Without a job, would he be able to pay for it?   
  
He turned the key slowly, unwilling to face the silence that lay beyond the heavy wooden door. The apartment was dark, murky. It suited his mood perfectly. He sat down on the sofa, silently, in the darkness, going over it all again and again. He was torturing himself, but at least it made him feel something. This way, he knew he was still alive.   
*****   
She felt she should do something, go and see him or call or something. She knew how he felt now, she could have some empathy with him at last. He would be a miss in that ER and she didn't think any of them knew quite how much.   
  
Plus, she was partially responsible. She couldn't help but feel that. Guilt on top of her own confusion. It weighed on her, dragging her further and further down. He probably hated her. She wouldn't blame him. The more she thought about it, the more logical the idea became. After a few minutes, she finally released the guardrail and turned away from the black and swirling river.   
*****   
He hoped whoever was at the door would just go away. He really wasn't in the mood. He sat, still and silent, biting his lip and praying they'd give up soon. The knocking became more and more incessant was the minutes went on. He'd have to admit defeat soon and answer the door - couldn't stand the rapping sound for much longer, it was beginning to grate.   
"Come on, open the door,"   
It was a female voice and one he recognised only too well. Had she come to gloat or something? He didn't need any pity, he had enough of his own to go around. Slowly, he rose and crossed the room. His fingers were on the lock when he paused. Did he really want to do this? Taking a deep breath, he turned the lock and pulled open the door. Right enough, there she stood.   
"Finally, I was about to give up,"   
She sighed noticeably relieved.   
"What do you want?"   
He sounded sullen and he knew it.   
"We need to talk,"   
She ran her hand through her black hair nervously and switched her weight from one foot to the other repeatedly. He was puzzled. Why did she look so flustered? What had happened?   
"We do?"   
He questioned.   
"Can I come in?"   
"Yeah, sure,"   
Still not sure whether this had been a good idea in the first place, he stood aside and let her in. She stood before him, feeling more than a little on trial.   
"I don't know how to say this. It's gonna sound more than a little stupid..."   
She trailed off under his intense, scrutinising gaze. She saw the anger in his eyes. She'd have to have been blind to miss it.   
"Just say it,"   
He bit back, annoyed at her uncertainty.   
"I came to say I'm sorry. For the way all this turned out."   
"You're not the one I want to be sorry,"   
His tone was flat, showing no emotion. He wasn't sure he had any left to give.   
"I know how it feels."   
"No, I don't think you..."   
She cut across his statement sharply, startling him. She wasn't going to stand for his self-pity, he could see that now.   
"I do. I quit too."   
"What?"   
He couldn't hide the surprised tone. What? Logical, sensible Dr Chen did something as rash as give up her job? Never.   
"I quit too. It became obvious during Risk Management that Weaver is willing to step on everyone to get what she wants, to avoid being blamed. I wasn't going to let her win. So instead of taking my suspension, I quit,"   
He said nothing. Couldn't say anything. He'd misjudged her. As she stood before him now, he knew he'd been wrong about her on so many counts.   
"Someone had to stand up to her."   
She finished, quietly.   
"But..you...you were Chief Resident?"   
"Yes, and I'll be Chief Resident somewhere else. Somewhere that evil, red-headed witch isn't,"   
"And I'll never work again,"   
He hung his head. At least she'd get another job. He wouldn't. He was virtually unemployable, Weaver would make sure of it. If he'd just kept his temper, hadn't insulted her the way he had.   
"You're a better doctor than people give you credit for. Don't let her ruin your career,"   
"I ruined my career the minute I walked out that hospital. After the things I said to her,"   
"Everyone's wanted to say them. Everyone was cheering you on, inside. I know they were,"   
She paused almost impercitibly.   
"Including me,"   
She added.   
"You were the winner. Everyone's on your side. She can sack everyone in that whole ER if she wants - they'll all be better people than she is. She picked on you and when you stood up to her, she couldn't handle it."   
"I was headstrong, stupid. If I'd kept my temper,"   
He bit his lip as he remembered the scene again.   
"She'd still have sacked you. We're dispensable, replaceable,"   
He knew she spoke the truth. He'd said a lot of horrible, angry things. He regretted saying them now, but at that moment they'd given him power, given him the strength it took to accept what was happening.   
"And here we both are. Jobless and hopeless, this story still ends the same way no matter how many times we go over it,"   
He looked straight at her, catching her gaze and holding it. She smiled, a bitter, truthful little half-smile.


End file.
